They've been staying at Missouri's for almost three weeks when Sam finally loses his temper. It's been a long time coming.

Dean isn't too happy being the tool Missouri's using to prod his brother, but she wields a mean spoon and she claims to know what she's doing. Dean hopes she's right. To that end, he's been obnoxious much more often than not, getting in Sam's way all day and hogging the covers all night. It's a hard job, but one he's eminently qualified for. He's had years of practice.

Sam's explosion, in the end, is quite magnificent, sending up a fountain of razor sharp cellulose-coated Tarot cards to form a mini tornado just below the ceiling.

Missouri lets it whip around the room for a minute or two, to take the edge off, and then smacks Sam across the back of his head with her open hand.

"Boy, you break anything and you're in trouble, hear me? I'm not doing this for my health!"

The expression on Sam's face is priceless as the cards rain down, assisted only by gravity now that his wave of rage has gone. He's stunned.

"Did I really…?"

Missouri nods.

"Wow." He studies the cards scattered randomly at his feet and tries to pick up just one with the power of his freaky mind. It doesn't move. Frustrated, he stretches out a long bare toe and flicks it away and then slumps, dejected, back into the sofa.

"Why can't I do this unless I'm angry? I want to get a handle on this - I need to - but it's just not happening. Nothing I do makes any difference and we're just wasting time going over and over the same old lessons."

Missouri nods in complete agreement, and smiles serenely.

"You need focus, Sam. You need to narrow your world down to just one thing - one perfect thing - and let everything else just slip away. Once you've got that, and you can keep it going, even if the world tries to intrude, you can use it. You'll be able to reach out with your mind and pick up anything you need - a feeling, a thought, energy, or one of these cards. But you need that perfect thing, Sam, that one moment when the world no longer exists outside that tight, focussed beam of concentration."

She stands, scoops up the tea tray and motions to the scattered cards decorating her carpet.

"Tidy that mess and then get your skinny ass upstairs. Your brother's wishing you were in his shower. Maybe once you stop holding back and getting all frustrated out of misplaced discretion - you do recall I'm a psychic? - you might be able to find that focus you've been missing."